


m a g n e t s

by AnastasiaRosePhoenix12



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Bonding, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Coming of Age, Complicated Relationships, Coping, Depression, Emotional Attachment, Endless Feels, F/M, Falling In Love, Firenze | Florence, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Instant Connections, Kindred Spirits, Loss of Identity, Mental Health Issues, Moving On, Not really slow burn, POV Alternating, Past Character Death, Physical Disability, Romantic Fluff, Schizoaffective Disorder, Second Chances, Sexual Tension, Soul-Searching, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Writer Bucky Barnes, winterwitch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 06:07:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastasiaRosePhoenix12/pseuds/AnastasiaRosePhoenix12
Summary: Bucky and Wanda are in different stages of their lives. Yet they're both emotionally numb, haunted by loss, abandonment, and the uncertainty that looms in their futures.Maybe that's why they're drawn to each other.☆pls read tags





	1. bucky

**Author's Note:**

> i knew when i applied to study abroad in florence that it was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. but shit i didnt expect to fall in love! & so that is why its set here in bellissima firenze♡♡
> 
> as for the actual story, thanks to lorde's 'magnets', halsey's 'alone', & 2 billie eilish songs: 'lovely' (bucky) & 'idontwannabeyouanymore' (wanda).
> 
> this one will be filled with angst & feels but also sweet lovely moments. enjoy!! xoxo

 

 

 

The airplane is rapidly descending. Rather than looking out the window and catching his first glimpse of the city, Bucky Barnes has brought down the shade. He is sitting in his seat, buckle barely secure around his hips, head reclined back with his eyes closed.

 

He tries not to think of the reason he is there in the first place. The real reason. It won't do him good to think about it, because then he will think about _her_ , and then everything will go to hell.

 

Yeah, too late.

 

He shouldn't be on this flight alone. That isn't how it was planned. (Life never is). He had booked two seats, one for himself… and… her. His wife.

 

Well, not his wife anymore. Obviously.

 

They had organized the trip in advance. To visit Bucky's best friends Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, who had moved from Manhattan to Florence, Italy. They were to stay with the couple for a week and have a great time catching up while also exploring the historic city.

 

That isn't the case now.

 

Now, Bucky is by himself. Alone.

 

Lord only knows where his wi – his _ex_ is.

 

Ever since he had woken up to the letter on his bedside table, he hasn't heard a single thing about her.

 

> _Please, don't bother looking for me. I've found someone else, and I'm happy. I hope you'll understand._

 

That was three months ago.

 

Just packed her belongings and went out the door in the dead of night, leaving behind both her diamond engagement ring and gold wedding band.

 

He was unable to reach her through her phone or email. He talked to her family, friends, and co-workers, anyone he knew that knew her. But no one seemed to know where she had run off to, or with who.

 

Well, that's what he initially thought. Then he got the sense that some of them did know, but for some fucked up reason, they never told him. Shouldn't or wouldn't. Either way, no one said a damn word and Bucky felt even more betrayed than he already did.

 

They knew how heartbroken he was. How utterly shocked and hopelessly confused he was by her abrupt departure. But it was like nobody cared about his feelings.

 

No matter how long he had known her family and friends – since high school because they had started dating when they were just freshmen – they never told him where she was.

 

Instead, they kept repeating "I'm so sorry" and "I wish it hadn't ended like this" and other shit that Bucky had ignored because it was filled with pity and he didn't need their pity.

 

He just wanted to know where his wife had gone. If she was safe. That was all. He could've dealt with the outcome of her decision later. If she had wanted a divorce, then he would've given it to her.

 

All Bucky wants in return is an explanation.

 

They had been together for more than 20 years. Married for half that time. When did he lose her? Was it when he enlisted in the Army? Was it when his left arm was permanently impaired? Was it when he suffered from PTSD and became an unbearable person to live with for a couple years? Was it when they found that she couldn’t have children? Was it when he finally started to follow his passion and write a book, spending endless hours in his office?

 

He just wants a reason. He doesn't know what he will do with the reason, maybe it will help ease his conscious. Maybe not. _But at least he would know._

 

Perhaps it will help his worn-out mind find an escape through the dark clouds circulating around him. Break through the depression that has held him down, swallowing him whole. It's made it impossible for him to do anything, to _want_ to do anything. He has no energy, no motivation to get up.

 

This is what happens when he's been abandoned by the person he loved more than anything in the world.

 

Without her, he's discovered that he is aimless. He had a purpose, which was to care for her and love her. Now that she is gone, he no longer has a purpose. He was so lost that he couldn’t even pretend to care about himself.

 

It took him awhile to come to the realization that he had been emotionally attached to her. So much so that when she left, and the depression seeped back into his mind, he welcomed it like an old friend. He didn’t fight it. He let it infiltrate his aching heart, because it was better to feel nothing.

 

In retrospect, he had stopped living, and this wasn't right.

 

Bucky guesses he has to thank his literary agent for letting him finally see the downwards spiral he was heading. Maria Hill passionately reminded him that he has a writing gift, and that it clearly showed in his debut novel which has recently climbed to #1 on _The New York Times_ bestselling list. That is why he is signed to a $200,000 book deal.

 

"You were also a soldier," she had said. "You survived a _war_. I know this is the lowest point in your life, but you've preserved through everything that's been thrown at you. You've won all the battles. Don't let her win this one."

 

Which is what has brought him to this flight to Florence.

 

To Steve and Natasha.

 

He's not going to let her win.

 

He's going to be with his friends and have a great time, like they had planned. He's going to an artistic haven in Florence where hopefully he will find some inspiration for his second novel, because he realizes he hasn't stopped living yet. He's alive after all, and he needs to stay that way. He has to move on because there is nothing else left for him but to forge ahead.

 

He needs to find a new purpose. (It just might be to care for himself – but he isn’t ready to face that yet).

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After the plane lands and he grabs his lone luggage, Bucky crosses through customs. The airport is small, so it doesn't take him long to find Steve through the crowds of people waiting for passengers.

 

He's waiting by the doors, hands tucked in the pockets of his khaki pants. He's craning his neck upwards, which is silly because he's taller than everyone in the room, even the security guards. Once he catches Bucky, he quickly approaches him.

 

"Buck!" Steve greets him warmly, slapping his shoulder as he brings him in for a brief hug.

 

"Hey punk," Bucky replies lowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. Though he hides it, he is relieved to see the blonde.

 

"I'm so happy that you made it," Steve says with a smile. Even at 36, there is not a wrinkle in sight on his face.

 

"Yeah," Bucky says, wincing that he sounds unenthusiastic. "Me too."

 

"You know," Steve says after a moment. Bucky realizes his hand is still on his left shoulder when he squeezes. "You can talk to me. When you're ready. You don't need to keep it to yourself. You don't have to."

 

Bucky looks up and sees nothing but sympathy, which is exactly how he would describe Steve. The man is so physically strong, but his strength doesn’t come through his muscles; it's his compassion. They both have been through so much, it's truly a blessing to have Steve in his corner. He knows he can find him there, just like Steve can depend on him if he ever needed him.

 

It's a nice remainder that he hasn't been entirely abandoned.

 

"Yeah," Bucky repeats, his throat slightly constricting. He doesn't want Steve to worry, so he forces a smile and returns the gesture by squeezing his shoulder with his right hand. "Thanks."

 

Steve's eyes linger on him, as if he knows that the smile isn't genuine. But he doesn't push it, he just nods and grabs the handle of Bucky's suitcase. Bucky wants to tell him that he can do that, but he bites his tongue.

 

Instead, he silently follows Steve out of the airport to his car which is parked nearby. Bucky looks down at his wrist watch and then up at the sky, finding the sun beginning to set. He's puzzled for a second until he realizes that he's six hours ahead of New York time.

 

When Steve turns on the car, a soft humming of Italian music plays. Nothing is said between them for a bit, Steve focused on listening to the directions that his phone dictates while Bucky looks out his window.

 

The road scenes – lots of cars, city buses, mopeds, and crowds of people, both natives and tourists, on the cobblestoned sidewalks – recalls home.

 

"This place kinda reminds me of New York City," he says.

 

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "With a lot less people, though. And more tourists. If that makes sense."

 

Bucky looks at him and smirks. "Not really."

 

Steve rolls his eyes. "Well, Nat and I have loved it so far. The architecture of the buildings and the cathedrals, they're all old and yet they still look so beautiful. You're just mesmerized when you see it. And then there's the food. The food is _so_ amazing, it's a surprise that neither of us have gained weight. Probably because everything is within walking distance. I rarely ever use this car, except when we travel to other cities in Tuscany. I just walk to the studio, and Nat likes to use her bicycle."

 

At the mention of Natasha's name, Bucky remembers why they moved all the way out here.

 

"So she's really a teacher huh?" he asks. He still can't believe that she pursued a career in education when she was capable of achieving more.

 

"One English class and one Russian class," Steve says, his proud tone unmistakable. "They're college kids from here."

 

"And you're still goin' to those painting classes?"

 

Steve tears his eyes away from the road for a second to scoff at him; he didn’t miss the teasing tone. "Yes. I am. I've always loved to draw, and I'm living in the city that was the birth of the Renaissance. I'd be a _fool_ not take advantage of this opportunity."

 

"Alright, alright," Bucky chuckles, holding his hand up in mock surrender. "I know you like to draw, but I just never expected that’s what'd you literally do after retiring."

 

"Yeah," Steve says more softly. "But I feel at home here. I know I've been here for a short time, and I do miss New York, but this place… it's growing on me."

 

For the first time in what seems like ages, Bucky _smiles_. It's a real one, and although Steve doesn't see it because Bucky is looking out the window, it's there. He feels very happy for him; at least one of them is contented with his life.

 

Quiet befalls again for some minutes. As he gazes at the passing buildings, Bucky can understand what Steve had said about the architecture of the city. They're huddled up like brownstones in every street, rising to three or four stories high. But they're not all residences; it's a mix of restaurants, shops, grocery stores lined up next to each other.

 

The sidewalks are very narrow, which explains why so many people walk freely on the edges of the roads, which in turn are shared with people riding on mopeds or bicycles.

 

The ambience, it's not what Bucky expected. It's wholly different, but he likes it.

 

He's so taken with the scenery that he almost doesn't hear Steve clear his throat.

 

"Um, there's something I need to tell you."

 

Bucky glances at him. "What's that?"

 

Steve inhales. "Well, Nat's little cousin has been stayin' with us for the past couple of weeks."

 

"Oh," he says after a beat. He doesn't think he has met the person. Then again, only a few relatives of Nat went to her wedding. "Ok."

 

"Yeah, her dad – Nat's uncle – he's in Brazil on a business trip. Since he'd be away for some time, Nat thought it'd be good for Wanda to be here. So they can spend time together and let her be somewhere where there's so much to do."

 

It takes him a second to recognize the cousin's name. 

 

"Wanda?" he asks, turning to fully look at Steve. "Didn't Nat lose a cousin couple years ago?"

 

The question causes Steve to become visibly uneasy. "Uh... yeah.  It wasn't Wanda, it was her twin brother. She's... she's been through a lot, the poor kid."

 

Bucky hums in response. He doesn't know what to say to something as devastating as that.

 

Steve continues, though he looks as if he sort of doesn't want to. "Listen. Nat didn't want me to say anything, but I don't think I'd be fair to you. Like I said, Wanda, she's been suffering. She spent time in a psychiatric hospital in New York. She was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder."

 

Bucky's brows furrow; he has never heard of it. "What is schizo – whatever you just said?"

 

Steve sighs, shaking his head. "It's a complex mental illness, doctors are still trying to understand it. Basically, it's schizophrenia and bipolar disorder in one."

 

Bucky's eyes widen. "Shit."

 

And he thought _he_ has it bad.

 

Steve sighs again, more resigned. "Her mom passed when she was young, and her brother's death just made it worse. It just... fell apart. That's why she went to the hospital."

 

Bucky nods as he listens intently. He absolutely loathes having people pity him, but in that moment, he can almost understand why they felt that way – because he is feeling it too. He couldn't imagine losing his mom, or his sister Rebecca. It just isn't possible to imagine a loss that destructive to him, not after what he has gone through.

 

"But now, she's doin' great. So great," Steve says as his demeanor suddenly changes to an uplifting one. "She's reading, she goes out on bike rides, 'round taking pictures, sometimes she cooks for us, and she even dances in her room."

 

"Wow," Bucky chuckles. "Didn't think she'd be that active."

 

"Mm-hmm, the complete opposite of who she used to be, hangin' out with druggies and bein' high all the time."

 

Bucky can't help but snort a little, watching out the window as they conveniently drive by a group of teenagers. "We were like that. Once."

 

He's only poking fun, because he knows that Steve was never like that.

 

Right on cue Steve scoffs at the statement. "No, _you_ were like that once. I still can't stand the smell, y'know. Makes me nauseous."

 

Now it's Bucky's turn to scoff, but mid-way it becomes a low chuckle. "Yeah, ok, big guy, whatever you say."

 

"Anyways," Steve smiles. "She's quit doing weed, thankfully. But she's started to smoke again. She's promised me it won't become a habit, but Italians here, they smoke all the time. So if you see her take out a cigarette, tell her that she shouldn't."

 

Bucky has his face turned so Steve doesn't see him roll his eyes. He wants to tell him that he's overreacting, but he also knows that Steve only has good intentions. So he assuages.

 

"You got it, Cap." After a moment, he asks, "How long is she stayin'?"

 

Steve pulls up to a quieter, more deserted street, so it must mean they're getting close.

 

"A month. Her dad should be back in New York this week, I think, but she wanted to stay longer. She's liked it here so much that she's told Nat and I that she wants to live here, go to school."

 

"What about her dad?"

 

He shrugs. "I dunno know how he'll react but... it's not like he's around anyways." He says bitterly.

 

Bucky nods understandably, but he still feels like he needs to remind him if he and Nat decide to take her cousin in. "That's a big responsibility, Steve."

 

"I know. But she needs to be in a stable environment. I feel like Nat and I can provide that." Steve says, and Bucky can tell from his soft yet determined voice that he really believes this.

 

After a pause, the car slows down to a stop, Steve parking it next to the small sidewalk. He flicks his chin to the right, smiling. "We're here."

 

The round arched double doors are the only thing made of wood; the rest of the building is smooth plaster. It's two stories high, the ground rectangular windows secured with rusting iron bars. From the outside, the townhouse doesn't look like much.

 

As he sees Steve take out his suit case from the trunk, Bucky remembers that he didn't buy a round-trip ticket. It was one-way at the advice of Maria Hill, who wanted him to spend time away as much as he needed without feeling pressured to come home with a draft.

 

"I won't stay long," he tells Steve as they walk up to the entrance. "Especially since Nat's cousin is here."

 

"Oh no, you can stay as long as you want, Buck," Steve reassures him with a kind smile. "There's no hurry."

 

Bucky wants to argue, to tell him that the max he'll stay is two weeks. But he's too tired from flying, and Steve is stubborn to a fault, so he says nothing for now.

 

Before Steve can insert the keys, the door swings open. On the other side is Natasha, and she looks radiant as always. Her curly red hair is much shorter than the last time Bucky had seen her; it's now cut just below her chin.

 

"Bucky!" she exclaims, rising to her tippy toes to kiss his cheek and wrap her arms around his shoulders. He immediately embraces her with his right arm, chuckling at how joyous she sounds. "You're finally here! Oh man, I've missed you.”

 

One moment he is happy, and then in the next, he's suddenly brought back to memories he doesn't want to remember. Memories of Nat and her, back in high school when they were close friends. He doesn't want to remember at all, God knows he doesn't because it pains him, but seeing Nat makes them resurface.

 

And he can't help but let his mind wander. Did Nat know about what would happen? Had she hinted to Nat of what she was going to do?

 

Natasha pulls away and gives him a gentle but knowing look, as if she can read what he is thinking. Truth be speaking, she always knows what he is thinking. He is still befuddled as to how she knows, maybe it’s written on his face or body language. And it's only her; he can mask his feelings very well with everyone else, including Steve who's known him practically all his life.

 

They step further into the house, Natasha closing the door before turning to him. Steve stands off to the side by the stairs with his suit case.

 

"I didn't know," she finally says quietly with a sad expression. Bucky wants to tell her that of course she didn't, but is unable to find his voice. "Truly, I didn't. I hadn't spoken to her since we left, which was about two weeks before…” her eyes flutter to Steve for a second before returning to him. She clears her throat and her mouth twitches into her famous smile-smirk. "But you’re here _now_ , and I know you've had a long flight so go rest up for a couple minutes, and we'll give you a holler when dinner is ready. Ok?"

 

Even after all these years, Nat's ability to switch emotions in the blink of an eye will never cease to give him whiplash.

 

Bucky nods solemnly. "Ok."

 

"C’mon, Buck," Steve waves a hand. "I'll show ya to your room."

 

Just as Bucky takes his first step and looks up the stairs, he sees a young girl in dark clothing coming down. She's swift, then halts as soon as she sees Steve and him. She has long dark brown hair parted down the middle, waving around her slightly round face. Her eyes, rimmed in kohl, widen at the sight of him. When he meets her gaze, they stand there looking at each other for five seconds. Then she looks away, her shoulders hunching over her small frame.

 

"Bucky, this is my cousin, Wanda," Nat introduces them.

 

"Hey," he offers a friendly smile.

 

She doesn't reply, just smiles timidly back at him and then continues climbing down the stairs. As she passes him, an aroma of perfume follows her. The fragrance smells of flowers, like peony, pomegranate and magnolia blossoms. He thinks it smells nice.

 

Watching her go into the kitchen with Nat, it registers to him that Steve hadn't been exaggerating. She's really just a kid.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bucky's wife will remain unnamed. i didnt want to attach an mcu character to someone as heartless as her lol.


	2. wanda

 

 

 

Natasha and Steve's friend isn't who Wanda Maximoff had expected.

 

She has read his novel (once she was told that he would be coming to stay). She has seen his picture in the back, learned through the little author's note that he had served in the U.S. Army during the Iraq occupation, honorably discharged after his left arm was physically impaired when his unit was attacked by enemy combatants, was consequently awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, and now living in Brooklyn, New York with his "beloved" wife.

 

The book has been published for almost half a year, but when Wanda first lays eyes on Bucky, she wonders if she had misread the publishing date.

 

Bucky doesn't resemble the one from the book. That one had been clean shaven, his hair perfectly combed into waves atop his head, and a slight tanned complexion. This Bucky has grown out his hair to the point that it reaches his shoulders, shaggy and thick dark locks. He looks rugged, his skin is pale, eyes very hollow. She could attribute it to fatigue from being in an airplane for 9 hours, but that isn't it.

 

Natasha has told her why he is there. Not just to visit them, but because he desperately needed to get away from home.

 

It had been planned that he and his wife would come, Natasha said. But then his wife left him. Natasha doesn't know where she is, and neither does Bucky. He became very depressed, but decided that it was necessary to come here. He's been signed to a book deal, so he must honor it and begin to write another.

 

"Hopefully the beauty of the city inspires him," Natasha had mused.

 

But nothing is ever that easy.

 

She saw how exhausted he looked, and she knows that isn't not just from traveling.

 

It is clear to her that he is hurting. Deeply. She knows this because she is just like him. She's hurting too. For different reasons, but they feel the same emotions.

 

He's hurting because someone he loved left him, and he doesn't know why. Unfortunately, Wanda can sympathize with that.

 

His wife isn't dead like her mother and brother, but then again, she might as well be. She isn't coming back, and Wanda can recognize that he hasn't fully come to accept that reality. Not yet anyways.

 

Though he can try to hide it, the disguise doesn't work on Wanda. He's still in mourning over the sudden breakdown of his marriage. She can tell because she used to be where he is now.

 

It's a time she doesn't like to revisit. It only brings pain, pain that she has worked endlessly to soothe. But seeing Bucky, hearing about what happened to him, it's almost like looking at herself in the mirror.

 

That is why when he looked at her and gave her a weary smile, it sent a shiver throughout her body.

 

Losing people you love also makes you lose a part of yourself. It doesn't matter if there is a reason or not. If there is, then you'll always wish you could go back in time and stop it from happening. If there isn't, then you just dig yourself into a black hole of confusion that won’t ever go away because there's no closure.

 

Wanda has since found herself torn apart. Her dear mama died because of cancer, and even though she knew that there still was no cure, she couldn't understand why it had to have taken her mama. Then her brother Pietro, who was a park with his friends when they were caught in the middle of drive-by shooting. An innocent bystander he was, taken by violence. His death had been for no reason, and it only served to throw Wanda further down the spiral that she had slowly been falling since their mama's passing.

 

Depression, mania, hallucinations, delusions; she has experienced every emotion that the human brain can possibly release. She won't ever know if this is the path that had been written for her, or it was the result of losing her mother and brother, but she's here now and she's trying to heal.

 

And the arrival of Bucky Barnes has made her realize that she still has a long way to go. She's better – a thousand times better than where she had been just a year ago – and there's no other course but to keep going forward. Because if she ever veers off, she can be right back in the predicament Bucky is in right now, or worse.

 

That cannot happen. She can't go back to that dark, dark place where nothing makes sense and she wants to die. She cannot relapse. Especially with Steve and Natasha's friend there, trying to recover himself. She must stay strong, take her antidepressants and antipsychotics, and never give up hope that she will have a second chance at a normal life.

 

Even if that little voice in the back of her mind warns her that she will never truly have a normal life – her mind will never be stable enough again.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Dinner is finished not long after the guest arrives. Natasha has made bruschetta and caponata for him, even though she had never cooked it before and Wanda didn't think it would make a difference on her friend since he'd never had the dish before.

 

But Natasha had wanted it to make it special for him, so Wanda understood that sentiment and helped her. Well, mainly the bruschetta because it was easier to make. Just tomatoes, basil, and olive oil-lathered slices of baguette bread. The caponata, on the other hand, took over an hour to cook.

 

"Why caponata?" Wanda inquires as she takes four plates from a cabinet. She puts three of them down, holding one for Natasha.

 

"Because it's Italian, silly," she says as she starts pouring the fried veggie dish of aubergines, tomato sauce, olives, raisins, capers and pine nuts on the plate.

 

"I read it is Sicilian."

 

Natasha raises a brow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Sicilian _is_ Italian."

 

Wanda puts the plate on the kitchen island once its filled, and grabs another. "Hmm, yes. But you do not call a Hawaiian dish American, you call it Hawaiian."

 

Natasha chuckles as she nods once. "You have a point. But like I said, Sicilian is Italian, and I wanted to make something Italian for Bucky. And we all love caponata. He will too."

 

As Wanda lays out the plates on the table, she hears Natasha call for Steve to get Bucky. By the time the two men come down, the table has been set. Each has a platter of caponata, with a smaller one off to the side for bruschetta and a glass of Chianti wine. In Wanda's case she also has water since drinking too much wine won't mix well with her medication.

 

When Bucky emerges, his hair is pulled back in a small ponytail with some strands escaping the elastic. Glancing at him intermittently as he takes a seat across her, she thinks that it's a good look. It's a surprising thought because she never thought she would find a bearded man with long hair attractive.

 

"This looks and smells delicious, Nat," Bucky compliments.

 

"Wanda actually made that," Natasha reveals as Bucky reaches for the bruschetta first with his hand. "How is it?"

 

Wanda lifts her eyes slightly when she hears him take a bite out of the bread and tomato. He crunches for a few seconds, and then he's smiling. She notices that the corner of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

 

"This is very good, Wanda." He says as he takes another bigger bite.

 

"Thanks," she replies softly, lowering her face as she feels a blush coming out of nowhere. She digs her fork into her food and starts chewing to hide her embarrassment.

 

"How was the flight?" Natasha asks. "You had a layover in Paris, right?"

 

Bucky nods. "Yeah. Just two hours."

 

"Oh, that's good. Unlike Steve and I who were in Frankfurt for _five hours._ " She says sternly, throwing Steve an arched brow.

 

Steve shrugs, taking a sip of his wine. "I told you it was going to be five hours."

 

Natasha rolls her eyes, but let's it go. "What do you think of Florence so far? Did you drive by any of the churches?"

 

"I saw a big one with an orangey dome."

 

"Oh, [the Duomo](https://dotravel.com/uploads/products/1235/1534766775/duomo-florence-tickets-fast-track-access.jpg)!" Steve boasts. "Yeah, we gotta take you there. It's the main cathedral here, and you get to walk all the way to the top and you can see all of Florence from miles away. It's absolutely beautiful up there."

 

"Especially at night," Natasha adds. "Wanda and I went back after 6, and in an hour the skies got dark and the city below just lights up."

 

Wanda smiles at the memory. She hates that she had to walk up 463 steps again, but it was better to do it in the evening than in the morning like they had done for her first time. But the reward is worth it; the panorama is breathtaking, whether it is in the day or night. 

 

"Oh yeah, I'd love to go," Bucky says, smiling. "Everything here, all the arts, the monuments, the culture, it's like a writer's dream."

 

Natasha hums excitedly, swallowing her wine to talk. "Speaking of writing. I read your book, which last time I checked was #1 on _The New York Times_ bestselling list!"

 

"You're a celebrity around here, Buck," Steve playfully teases.

 

"I'm so proud of you. _We_ are proud of you," Natasha beams with sincerity, reaching out to squeeze his right hand. "It's a marvelous book you've written."

 

Bucky chuckles nervously, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Thanks, guys."

 

"And then the book deal you scored! How much is it worth?"

 

Bucky half-smiles, which makes Wanda think that he's a bit embarrassed to reveal, but she can see the humility in his eyes as well.

 

"... $200,000 for 3 more novels."

 

Everyone's eyes widen into saucers, including Wanda. She even drops her fork, which bangs loudly on the plate. Bucky momentarily looks at her, clearly amused by the reaction. Now Wanda is even more embarrassed, forcing her to instinctively pinch her nose and then rub it to hide her red face. 

 

"Oh my God," Natasha gasps. " _Wow._ "

 

"I knew you had it in you, Buck," Steve grins, sounding like a happy father. Raising his wine glass, he says, "Let's say a toast."

 

"Ah, no, please –" Bucky remarks, shaking his head.

 

Steve ignores him, so does Natasha as they raise their glasses. Wanda lowly clears her throat and meekly raises it too. Why is she acting like a nervous wreck?

 

"To Bucky!" Natasha and Steve cheer with ear-to-ear grins.

 

Bucky sits there for a moment, the corner of his mouth slowly rising as he makes no effort to join them. But then he relents, sighing as he reluctantly brings his glass up and they all clink. Even with his beard, his flush on his cheeks is noticeable. Wanda finds she likes that he is so unpresuming.

 

"Thank you, thank you..." he repeats even more softly after they all take a sip. "Enough about me, though. How 'bout you guys?"

 

"Well," Natasha starts. "I'm loving my classes."

 

"Ya know, I still _can't_ believe you're a teacher," Bucky admits. "I just – I just can't."

 

"The kids are nice," she smiles fondly. "They really are."

 

"And you, Stevie?"

 

Steve opens his mouth, but to her own horror, Wanda answers before she even realizes. "Steve does nothing but paints, sleeps, and then more painting."

 

She doesn't know what has gotten into her. First, she's quiet throughout the dinner because she doesn't know what to say, and in the next, she's speaking a whole sentence that wasn't even directed to her. It must be the wine, she decides, and so she reaches for her water, avoiding the light-hearted stare Steve is giving her. Meanwhile Natasha is chuckling behind her hand and Bucky is snickering aloud. 

 

"Sounds 'bout right," he chimes.

 

"Huh, so she speaks," Steve jabs at her with incredulous eyes. "And what have _you_ been up to Wanda?"

 

Wanda swallows at the spotlight she suddenly finds herself in. "Well. If you must know," she begins with a small shy smile aimed at Steve. "I rode my bike across the Ponte Vecchio, took some pictures, came home, took a shower, ate some lunch, read the _Divine Comedy_ , and then helped Natasha cook what you are eating."

 

"You're readin' the _Divine Comedy_?" Bucky asks.

 

Wanda notices plainly in his expression that he is intrigued. She can't discern if it's because someone is reading the ancient poem, or someone her age is reading it without it being a school assignment.

 

After she nods twice, he asks, "What part are you in?"

 

"Inferno."

 

"Oh," he nods, looking down at his plate before reaching for his wine. "It gets more interesting."

 

Wanda hums. "I hope it does."

 

Swallowing his food, he then asks, "Why'd you choose to read it?"

 

"There is a statue of Dante in the Piazza di Santa Croce," she says, pointing a finger over her shoulder to the church that is just down the street.

 

"Oh, what's that?"

 

"It's the church right next to us," Natasha informs him. "You didn't see it on the way here?"

 

Bucky shakes his head as Steve explains, "No, I didn't drive by there. But yeah, you just take a right, there's always a bunch of tourists there takin' pictures. Wanda can take you there tomorrow."

 

"Yeah, why not," Natasha offers with a smile to Bucky and then Wanda.

 

Wanda, on the other hand, is taken aback at the mention of her name. Her eyes widen, but then she quickly recovers her composure and looks up to nod, to show that she is okay with it. She catches Bucky glancing at her, as if to await a silent confirmation, so she smiles. When he returns it, Wanda feels her cheeks heat up again so she instantly looks away.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Wanda stays back with Steve to clean after everyone finishes their dinner. They clear the table and wash all the plates and glasses. Once that is done, Wanda turns to head upstairs when she's held back by Steve.

 

"Oh, hand this to Bucky, please." He says, handing her a cup of water.

 

Wanda hesitates. She looks at the cup, takes it wordlessly, and raises her eyes to see Steve already moving to put the water pitcher back in the fridge.

 

She suddenly remembers that she and Bucky are sharing the top floor together. They will also share the only bathroom on the floor, as well as the balcony that connects their bedrooms. At first, she didn't think much of it, none at all. But now that he is there, just a couple feet away from her, the two of them alone up there while there's an entire other floor between them and Natasha and Steve, it's an odd feeling. She's still alone in her room, of course, but then again, not really. Maybe it's because she's had the whole floor to herself lately, she thinks, having gotten used to the loneliness.

 

Without looking back, she throws a soft "Goodnight" over her shoulder.

 

"'Night, Wanda." Steve replies as he turns off the kitchen lights.

 

She takes her time climbing up the two flights, passing by Natasha and Steve's office on the first floor. Natasha's door is always closed, but Steve’s isn't. It's slightly open, just enough for Wanda to peek her head inside and see the numerous paintings and portraits he has done since getting here. For such a tough army captain, she would've never guessed him to be as artistic as he is. He reminds her of a gentle giant.

 

She turns off the lights to that floor once she reaches her hallway. The first thing she sees is the bathroom, the lights on from underneath the closed door. She slowly walks to Bucky's room, finding the door wide open. When she turns her head back to glance at the bathroom, she hears the toilet flush.

 

Spotting his bedside table, she quickly strides to place the cup there, hoping to go by unnoticed. She’s halfway through his room when she hears the bathroom door creak open and Bucky saunters in.

 

He freezes when he sees her, but only for a moment. His eyes furrow curiously, making Wanda feel absolutely embarrassed now at getting caught in the middle of his room.

 

"S–Steve sent you water," she explains, wincing at her slight stutter. She then bows her head down and begins to walk, wanting to get as far away from there as possible. "Sorry."

 

"Uh… thanks." Bucky says, sounding a bit confused, which she can’t fault him for. She walks right by him when he speaks again. "Wait, hey. About tomorrow. You don't really have to take me to see Dante's statue."

 

She pauses, lifting her eyes to connect with his gaze. His hair is no longer pulled back, but the dark circles under his eyes are still present. The longer she takes to observe him, the clearer it becomes just how fatigued he is. It's so extreme that it almost makes her feel tired.

 

Feeling a wave of sympathy for him, for what he must be dealing with internally, she smiles shyly but sweetly. "It would be no problem for me."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bucky's physical appearance is from infinity war (:


	3. bucky

 

 

 

Bucky knows he can sleep till however late he wants. He desperately wishes his mind could understand that. But it's already alert by 7am, forcing him to twist and turn for half an hour until he gives in to the fact that he will not be able to go back to sleep.

 

Huffing in annoyance, he gets up and changes. After brushing his teeth, he puts on a shirt and jeans, not really sure if he's going somewhere. He thinks he should, get to know the city more. Get lost in it. Find his way back here to Steve and Nat's house. Just like he's trying to do with his life. He doesn't have a home anymore, not physically but metaphorically. He needs to find meaning again, a purpose, and changing his surroundings, being with people who love him, can aid him.

 

Hopefully it's enough.

 

He combs through his hair with his fingers, then slips his phone into his pocket before heading out. He moves his neck side to side and back and forth to crack the bones in duress as he ambles down the stairs. He can hear the distant voices of people he figures must be the tourists and locals hanging around the church that is a stone's throw away from there. But inside the house, it's quiet, and for a moment he thinks he's alone until he steps off the bottom step of the staircase. Turning to head into the kitchen, he spots Wanda. She's outside in the terrace, seated with her back towards him.

 

Moving to the coffee machine and the fridge to fix himself some breakfast, he can't help but keep glancing back at her. He sees a plate of croissants on the table, her phone flat on the surface as her index finger scrolls upwards. He doesn't want to bother her. She looks at peace sitting out there alone, comfortable and calm. He doesn't want to intrude on whatever she is doing on her phone. Even when he remembers that she had said she would take him to see Dante's statue. He had told her she didn't have to, and he meant it. He has no problem going to see it alone. He has no problem doing anything alone, and he has a feeling that she doesn't either. 

 

He's surveying the fridge, trying to decide between making a simple sandwich or just eggs and croissants when he hears the slight squeak of the sliding door to the patio sliding open. He lifts his eyes just a little to the right to see Wanda coming back in. She's still wearing her pajamas, a loose tank top and shorts, her feet covered in fuzzy black socks and the rest of her body in what he thinks is a kimono. He snaps his gaze back to the fridge a second later, and not feeling that hungry anymore, ends his search.

 

"Good morning," she says as she places her empty plate in the sink and takes a sip from her mug.

 

He nods politely. "Mornin'. Where'd Steve and Nat go?"

 

"On a run."

 

He hums in response as he raises his own mug and drinks his coffee. He's glad to hear that little routine of theirs hasn't changed. He remembers when it was him and Steve that jogged in the mornings. Eventually Natasha joined them, and then after they got married, Bucky no longer went. He still jogged, but by himself. No matter how many times both of them asked him to join them, he always turned it down. It's not that he didn't want to be with them; he just didn't want to intrude.

 

Which is how he is feeling being here, even though they kept on repeating that he wasn't doing nothing of the kind. They wanted him there, wanted their best friend to spend time with them. But Bucky can't shake off the lingering thought that he is being a nuisance – not then and not now.

 

Wanda's soft voice reels him back in. "Did you want to go see the statue now?"

 

Bucky blinks, catching Wanda patiently waiting for a response. "Uh. Sure. We can go now. If you've got no plans right now," he adds.

 

She smiles and shakes her head. "I don't. I'll go change."

 

He watches as she gulps down the rest of whatever is in her mug, puts in the sink and walks past him to go upstairs. Bucky takes his coffee and a croissant and sits on the stool in the kitchen island. He sits there, swallowing and chewing, trying not to think at all. He doesn't want to think about the book that he will need to start on soon, doesn't want to think on how long he will stay in Florence although it'll be short because he refuses to trouble Steve and Nat, doesn't want to think about his damaged arm or even _her_.

 

He just needs to focus on something entirely else. Like the statue he's about to see. Dante. He likes Dante.

 

None of his peers had paid attention when his high school literature teacher had taught the class about Dante and his works, but Bucky had. It was then –and come to think of it, he was right around Wanda's age – when he was introduced to the _Divine Comedy_. His teacher had only assigned them to read the first part of the poem, which was _Inferno_ , but he ended up reading all of it. It was a bit hard to understand due to the vernacular, but it didn't hinder him from enjoying it. He still doesn't really know why he enjoyed it – perhaps because Dante starts up in hell and ends up in heaven.

 

It's been years since he has re-read it, so hearing that Wanda has been reading it has reminded him of himself. Back when he was her age, just a kid whose only worries was getting good grades and trying not to be recurrently late to his job at the hardware store. It's a nice thought.

 

By the time he is done with his second cup of coffee and eaten two more croissants, Wanda has returned.

 

"Ready?" she asks, adjusting her crossbody leather purse.

 

He notices that she's wearing dark clothing again, even though it's sunny outside. Her long wavy hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, her lower lash lines rimmed in black kohl, her fingers decorated in rings and fingernails coated in black polish. The first word that comes to mind is goth, but that isn't the correct word, not on her. She's... something else. He can't pinpoint, not yet. They've only just met.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Steve was right. The church and the statue are just around the corner. From the side the [Santa Croce church](https://d2v9y0dukr6mq2.cloudfront.net/video/thumbnail/6oCo44M/videoblocks-basilica-di-santa-croce-the-largest-franciscan-church-in-the-world_srjgkhxz_thumbnail-full01.png) isn't much to look at, but then the entrance is a whole other story.

 

It's small compared to the big church with the orange-bricked dome he spotted when he arrived, but the size doesn't take away its wonderful architecture. The facade is constructed of limestone and various colors of biochrome marble: white, black, green, pink, with a six-pointed star at its pinnacle. There are three wooden doors, lines of people coming in and out of them. It's still early in the morning, and yet the entire piazza is filled with people.

 

To the left at the top of steps is the large marble statue of Dante, flanked by lions. There is also a Roman eagle behind Dante at his feet, looking up at him. Bucky takes out his phone and begins snapping a couple pictures of the statue and the basilica. Once he's done, he notices that Wanda has taken a seat on the steps. She's not looking at him, but ahead, at someone, at nothing. She's just sitting there, munching on some crackers she takes out from her purse.

 

He hesitates, not knowing if he should join her. But then he thinks that she has brought him here, so it would be rude to leave her alone.

 

"Did you know that Machiavelli, Galileo, and Michelangelo are buried here?" she says as he crouches to take a seat, her purse in between them.

 

His eyes narrow in curiosity, and he can't help but look over his shoulder and point a thumb at the church. "Really? In there?"

 

She glances at him and nods, smiling. "Yes. In there."

 

He hums in wonderment, a smile playing on his lips. "Wow." Then at the mention of Machiavelli, he arches a brow and asks, "Have you read _The Prince_?"

 

She returns his gaze and after a moment, there's a hint of a smirk. "I have."

 

Bucky shakes his head and chuckles, unable to believe it. He wants to think she's lying, but there would absolutely no reason for it.

 

"Why am I not surprised?" he says, more to himself than her. He's beginning to think he hasn't met anyone like her, this young and knowledgeable. Someone as impressionable as her.

 

"Well," she says after a while. "I have read _some_ of it. Politics are interesting, but there was so much of it in his analysis, that I quickly got confused so I just gave up reading it."

 

He nods understandingly. "But do you agree with what he was tryin' to say?"

 

"No," she quickly answers. "He wrote that people in power should do whatever they need to do to keep that power, whether it's good or bad. I don't agree."

 

Bucky nods again. "Yeah. Me too."

 

After a couple still moments of them observing the square, the people, and light crunches of her chewing her crackers, Wanda is the first one to break the silence. "I hope you do not mind me asking me a question."

 

Bucky smirks, stealing a glance at her. "Depends on what it is."

 

"It is about your arm." She pauses, then asks even more quieter just for him to hear, "What happened?"

 

He inhales sharply, his body stiffens as his good mood dissipates with the wind. A string of flashbacks rattles his mind, taking him back to a time that he doesn't want to relive. To a period that has taken him years to come to terms with.

 

How foolishly naive he had been, how terrified out of his head he had been, how he had actually accepted he was going to die and then he didn't. All these deep, scary emotions he's buried, they slowly resurface. They're not as bad as they used to be, they don't overwhelm him anymore. But they do make him short of breath, make him fall a bit off balance.

 

The question itself, it doesn't bother him as it used to. Back then, he never wanted to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about how he had lost it, how in the process he had thought he was going to die. It just didn't do him any good harkening back on it. It made him sad, angry, pity himself. Thankfully for the therapy and the passage of years, the pain has lessened. It won't ever go away, it'll be with him till he breathes his last breath, but it won't control him either. He's at peace with losing his arm – he lost the basic motor functions, but it's still attached to his body. This is what he tells himself always. 

 

He pushes back strands of his hair behind his ears and swallows. "I was 'round your age when 9/11 happened. I enlisted into the army when I was old enough. Me and Steve," he adds, feeling the ghost of a smile on his mouth as he remembers just how _young_ they had been. "We were sent to Iraq. I was up in a tower on lookout for my battalion when we were attacked. A bomb went off. The tower came down, and I with it." 

 

He doesn't mean to take a pause, but he does to let out a shaky breath through puffed cheeks. "I landed on my left arm and with all the rubble coming down on me, I crushed my brachial artery. Doctors were able to save my arm, but they'd said my nerve functions were too damaged. At first I told them to just amputate it if it was goin' to be limp forever, but they told me that I shouldn't lose hope. They were right," he admits with a rueful smirk.

 

He raises his left arm as far as he can before needing help from his right to rest his hand on his knee. "I can move my fingers," he says, wiggling them to show her. "And the lower part of my arm up until my elbow, I can move it a little. It took years but it's better than nothin'."

 

A couple minutes pass by, and that's when it dawns on him that he went into detail about what he's able to do with his left arm. Amazingly, he can't remember the last time he spoke about it. How far he's come in his therapy. Nobody's asked.

 

It strikes him odd to reveal this much information to Nat's little cousin. A practical stranger to him. He steals another glance at her, having his eyes set on the cobblestones, and catches her looking back at him. She's deep in thought, but he can't get a read on her.

 

She bites her bottom lip before asking, "Do you regret signing up?"

 

He shuffles uncomfortably, but he doesn't break their gaze. He locks his eyes on hers, even though he wants to look away because she's asked another question that he hasnt been asked in _so long_. "I... When I woke up in the hospital, when the doctors told me that I'd have a limp arm for the rest of my life... I did," he admits, his throat growing heavy. "I felt regret, and then I felt guilty for feeling regretful. But I don't – I don't feel that way. Not anymore."

 

"Even when you know now that the invasion was for nothing? Iraq was not behind those attacks, they'd never even have nuclear weapons."

 

Bucky winces and finally looks off into the distance. Now _this_ is a subject he's still sensitive about. It makes his blood just boil at hearing this, because he knows it's true and it wrecks with his mind, with his heart. He knows they had invaded for no reason, though at the time he had been confused. But most of his fellow older comrades hadn't; they knew _even then_. He had heard the whispers that it was bad idea going to Iraq, and soon morale amongst them was so low that he found himself not wanting to go either.

 

"I... I was just followin' orders." He settles on saying, but he lacks conviction. 

 

"That was not what I asked."

 

Bucky chuckles darkly. "You dunno what you're askin'."

 

"I do," she says, and he can feel her watching him closely, gauging his reaction. "So do you."

 

He exhales loudly, running his right hand through his hair. As he does, he smudges little beads of sweat on his forehead.

 

"Look. I'll never regret signing up to protect my country. I knew goin' into it that sacrifice was part of the risk, and I accepted it – willingly. And – and yeah I know Iraq was a strategic mistake. I know. But..." He stops, shaking his head as he feels a tremor run through him thinking of the days he spent inn the hospital recovering, the months and years that followed to recover not only his arm but his head. "I can't let myself think that I sacrificed for nothing. That I was lost my _damn_ arm for _nothing_. I can't let – it'd be cruel to think so, and I don't think I deserve that. So instead I think myself lucky for surviving. Because I have friends who didn't survive. Who were killed right in front of me. And I'll be damned if I ever thought they died for _nothing_."

 

He doesn't know that his hand has balled into a tight fist, veins popping as the fuming anger runs through him, until he feels a small warm hand enclose around it.

 

He looks down to see it's Wanda's hand. And he nearly gasps when he meets her gaze, seeing those big green eyes filled with so much warmth and empathy. An openness that is so trusting. Her silent sincerity is something he never imagined he would need, but now that he has it, he doesn't want to forget this feeling. How it stirs something inside of him, to see that someone has heard him and cares for what he thinks. 

 

There's a breeze that blows across his face, and in that moment his anger subsides. He no longer feels like he wants to rip his brain out, remove all those terrible memories from the war. They're gone, stashed away where they were, and instead he feels like he can breathe again. He unexpectedly feels better, like boulders have been lifted from his shoulders. It's a sensation that he cannot explain it, other than to attribute it to her. She's the reason why he can breathe again. She let him know that it is okay to be truthful every once in a while, and not be judged by it. 

 

She squeezes his hand, half-smiling. "Thank you for your service."

 

"Thanks." He says, his voice barely audible. It's only for her to hear.

 

He holds her gaze for a beat longer, not sure why he doesn't look away. Instead, she does. She grabs her bag and gets up, walks down the few steps and turns back to him.

 

She extends a hand. "Natasha and Steve should be home by now."

 

Bucky's eyes wavers between her eyes and hand, once again taken aback by her kindness. He fights a smile as he puts his right hand in hers and stands up. Her touch is warm, just like he expected it to be. Once he's on his feet, he pulls to let go, but she grips him for just a second longer, before dropping it. His brows creases at her lingering touch, but then he thinks she probably did it by accident.

 

He paces slightly behind her on the way back to the house. He doesn't want her to see how stunned she left him. It perplexes him that someone so gentle and understanding as Wanda can be victimized by such a devastating mental disorder. She doesn't look like she has it, not one bit. But then he remembers that no one is what they make themselves appear, something he knows all too well.

 

 

 


	4. wanda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyyyy ♡♡♡♡

 

 

 

Wanda rides her bicycle.

 

She loves doing it, especially very early in the mornings, when the streets aren't as busy, many people still sleeping in their beds.

 

She rides across the [Ponte alle Grazie](https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4112/5067714339_274cd6d699_b.jpg) over the Arno River, taking her to the other side of Florence. She goes down random streets, passing by various gelaterias, cafes, restaurants, bookstores, and leather shops. She almost stops by a cafe, craving for yet another sweet treat even though she had already had breakfast, before finding a small but cute flower shop.

 

After perusing for a couple minutes, she buys a bouquet of pink and purple hydrangeas.

 

Placing it on the basket, she heads back to the house, the trip taking her nearly half an hour. But she doesn't mind. The streets are now becoming crowded, so rather than taking the main one, she cuts through the more hidden, quieter ones.

 

It's more of a bumpier ride for her bicycle, bits of the old cobblestones sticking out. But she gets home faster, past the church and its plaza which is now bustling with tourists.

 

She parks her bike by the door, reminding herself to bring it in later. She grabs the hydrangeas and enters the residence, wondering where she'd put it. There is already a vase of roses on the dining room table, so she thinks the hydrangeas would look better on the table out on the balcony. That way it would get sunshine and last longer than the roses, which were beginning to wilt. 

 

She doesn't expect to see Bucky. She finds him sitting at the table, his back to her. To his left there's a bowl, but he doesn't pay attention to it. His eyes are on the book he's holding with his right hand.

 

It's the _Divine Comedy_. She had been reading it while eating breakfast and left it there to go on her bike ride.

 

As Wanda walks towards the kitchen, neither of them says anything. She considers greeting him good morning for courtesy's sake, but for some reason the words don't come out.

 

Instead, as she finds a glass vase and fills it up with water, she silently observes him.

 

He has his hair tied back in a messy bun again. The three times she saw him over the weekend, because he spent all hours with Steve outside the house, he had his hair away from his face.

 

And to her surprise, she realized that she likes it that way. She never liked guys having long hair, but his isn't that long, and when pulled back he's even more good-looking.

 

"What's with the second toilet in the bathroom?" he suddenly asks aloud. He doesn't move, the book still in his hand.

 

Wanda's brows furrow at the question, a small smile threatening to break out. "It is called a [bidet](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/35/Bidet_weiss.jpg)."

 

"Oh." He pauses. "What's it for?"

 

She brings the water-filled vase to the counter, setting it next to the hydrangeas. "You really don't know?" she asks, chuckling.

 

"That's why I'm askin'."

 

She lifts the flowers and slips them into the vase. As she spreads them out, she turns to look at him. At first, she's thinking of what to say, how to explain, but then her eyes stay on his back. Catching herself staring for no reason, she blinks rapidly, and her mouth lets out the first thing that pops in her head.

 

"It is to clean your ass after taking a shit."

 

For a second she hears nothing. She hopes he somehow hadn't heard her, because she's blushing madly – she hadn't meant to use such vulgar language. But then she hears the book slip from his hand, hitting the table with a loud thump. The chair squeaks under his weight as he looks over his shoulder. His eyebrows are raised, blue eyes widened in surprise and amusement.

 

His mouth is slightly agape, scoffing, "You're jokin'."

 

Wanda shakes her head, holding eye contact until it becomes too much. She doesn't know why, but she pushes this thought back, focusing on rearranging the flowers instead.

 

After another moment, he scoffs again, but more lightly. " _Huh_."

 

"It is very common here," she adds. She's still arranging the flowers, or more like playing around with them. She searches around the living room, wondering where to put them. She ignores the fact that she tries her best to avoid looking at him. 

 

"Have you used it?" he asks.

 

The question catches her off guard. She lifts the vase and begins walking to the coffee table in the living room, a little shy smile fighting to break through. Her neck heats up as she remembers the one time she did, just a couple days ago. It wasn't pleasant. 

 

"Mm, I did," she reveals. She's still avoiding looking at him, talking to him with her back to him. "Once. It was weird."

 

Bucky hums. "No surprise there."

 

Wanda returns to the kitchen, searching the fridge for something to drink even though she's not thirsty. She's reaching for the bottle of orange juice when he asks yet another impromptu question. "Do you believe in the afterlife?"

 

She stills. She doesn't know what brings on this type of question, but then she remembers that he had been reading the _Divine Comedy_. She takes the orange juice and reaches for the cabinet to grab a glass cup.

 

"I do."

 

From the corner of her eye, she sees him shrug. "I'm still kinda fifty-fifty on it, yet for some reason I really like this book."

 

"The writing _is_ very vivid," she admits as she takes a swig of juice. "Makes you want to believe all of it."

 

Bucky softly hums. When he doesn't say anything immediately, Wanda is finally able to steal a glance at him. He's half-turned in the chair, his forearm resting on the arm of the chair. His chin is slumped on his forearm, his mind somewhere else as he gazes off. Her eyes stay on him for longer than necessary once again, and this time she's too slow to look away when he returns from whatever line of thought he had been in and looks back at her.

 

To hide her embarrassment, Wanda takes a larger gulp of orange juice.

 

 _What is going on with me_ , she ponders.

 

"Any plans for today?" he asks. His chin is still on his arm, his eyes looking up at her. He almost reminds her of a little boy, except without all the scruff.

 

"I was going to rest for a while," she says, though she's no longer tired from her earlier bike ride. "Then go back out, take some pictures."

 

Bucky's head lifts, his mouth quirking up into a humble smile. "Mind if a stray dog tags along?"

 

Wanda's stomach does a somersault, and once more she has no idea why her body is reacting so funny. Ignoring it, she drinks all the orange juice left, drops the empty glass into the sink, and looks back at him, a brow raised. She's suddenly in a teasing mood. "Don't you have a novel you need to work on?"

 

Bucky gets up, flashing a grin. Wanda no longer feels like teasing him. "You're right. But the book can't write itself if there's no inspiration."

 

She pretends to give it a thought, but truthfully, there's nothing to think over. Of course she gives in because she wouldn't mind the company. Or at least that's what she wants to make herself believe simply because it's easier.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Not much is said between them. Both are quiet, Bucky taking in the sights with his eyes while Wanda is busy with her camera capturing anything that catches her attention.

 

People standing by the corner of a street, waiting to cross. A group of teenagers with their backpacks talking animatedly. An old man with hunched shoulders slowly sauntering on the sidewalk. A middle-aged woman smoking outside a convenience store. An Asian couple wearing visors and fanny packs scanning a map.

 

After a while, they stumble upon a gelateria. When they are given their cones, they take a seat in the chairs outside of the shop.

 

"Ice cream is good. But gelato..." Wanda moans in delight as she takes another lick of her mango gelato cone. "Mm, it is _so_ delicious."

 

Bucky chuckles. "I don't think that makes sense."

 

Wanda simply shrugs and diverts her attention back to the frozen dessert.

 

"Do you have an idea for your new book?" she asks.

 

Bucky takes a long lick of his chocolate gelato. She tries hard not to stare. "Honestly... no."

 

"I read your book."

 

Curiosity burns in those ocean blue eyes. "Really? What'd ya think?"

 

Her tongue slowly licks off a portion of the ice cream, thinking what to say. She did like it, but thought it was also sad and depressing. "It was very good."

 

Bucky smacked his teeth and leaned closer over the table. "Oh, c'mon. Don't be vague. What'd you really think?"

 

"I think your writing style is beautifully eloquent," she settles on complimenting him. Seeing his reaction, clearly waiting for more critique, she slightly changes the subject. "When did you discover you wanted to be a writer?"

 

He smirks with a humorous glint in his eyes. "Ok, I see what you did there. Don't think I'll forget this," he warns playfully, waving his empty cone. He's already started chewing it, having eaten all the ice cream. "And to answer your question, I've always been a book worm. I guess it just came naturally. And what about you?"

 

"Me?"

 

"Yeah," he nods. "Your photography."

 

"Oh," she chuckles, looking down to hide her pink cheeks. "It is funny. Taking pictures when I used to think the government was spying on me to kill me like they did my mother and brother."

 

Wanda continues to laugh at herself, no longer ashamed of the fact that she had literally lost her mind one time. It took her some time to come around this particular chaotic episode, which was more chaotic than all the other ones she's had, but she’s finally managed to warm up to it.

 

When she's done laughing, she looks up to see Bucky's confused expression. "I have schizoaffective disorder," she explains plainly.

 

"Oh," is the first word out of Bucky's mouth. After a second, realization sets in his eyes. " _Oh_. I'm...uh..."

 

She sees the myriad of feelings that flash across his face, and him seemingly trying to find one to convey. But she quickly catches on and saves him the trouble.

 

"I know Steve told you. I do not mind."

 

Bucky bows his head down, almost in shame at being caught trying to feign ignorance. "Are you afraid? You know, of... relapsing."

 

She breathes deeply. She can’t remember the last time someone asked her that question, outside of her psychologist.

 

"I am," she answers steadily. "But I am also being very careful. I am trying my best to have the chances as low as possible."

 

She expects him to ask her to elaborate, but he doesn't. Instead, he just nods solemnly and gazes off. And therein is another reason she's growing to like him: he doesn't pry. Anytime she tells someone she has schizoaffective disorder, they bombard her with questions of how in the hell she lives, if at all.

 

But not Bucky. He's an inquisitive being, but he doesn’t intrude. Like her, he allows the person to continue the conversation at their own pace. God, he is so shockingly sentient; a tremble runs up her spine.

 

"I also know the reason you are here in Florence," she admits lowly, hoping that no secrets exist between them. She doesn't know why she feels this way, but she wants him to at least be aware that he isn't the only one suffering. That he isn't alone. "The _real_ reason."

 

Bucky's eyes immediately flick back to her. 

 

There is an umbrella attached to the table that shielded them from the sun, allowing her to see an intensity swarm over his rough yet smooth features. He holds her eyes with such firm strength that it leaves Wanda in a daze. She's never been looked in that manner before.

 

When the connection proves too much to maintain, she blinks. She goes for her bag, just so she can occupy her hands with anything.

 

"It's cruel..." she whispers as she takes out her camera. "How people can leave without an explanation. Very, very cruel."

 

She doesn't have to watch him to know that her words have an immediate effect on him. The atmosphere around him changes; somehow, she can sense his vulnerability, unspoken but still palpable.

 

 _Maybe it's because you know what it's like,_ says a voice in the back of her head. _The pain of losing a loved one for no reason._

 

Lifting her eyes, Bucky is still looking at anything but her. His brows furrowed, he's spacing out, lost in his thoughts. An idea pops in her mind, and before she can really think through it, she's raising her camera and snaps a picture.

 

Once again, Wanda expects a reaction from him.

 

But Bucky remains absolutely quiet, brooding.

 

 

 


	5. bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i love school & learning & getting smart but wtf why did i choose to minor in journalism? ugh. luckily only 1 month left.
> 
> in other news, i finished this listening non stop to billie eilish's new album. without her music this story wouldnt exist.
> 
> ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

 

 

 

It is night outside when Bucky finally awakens. His throat is dry, neck twisted awkwardly on his pillow, and initially he has no recollection of what he had done earlier in the day.

 

As he gets up, a palm rubbing the back of his neck, he suddenly remembers – because how could he not.

 

Strolling with Wanda throughout the city. Them eating gelato. And then having a conversation that he hadn't expected. It had been a short one, but meaningful.

 

Steve had confided in him about her mental illness, so of course he had acted surprised when she mentioned it out of nowhere. Or tried, at the very least. Which in the end didn't matter because she had apparently seemed unbothered that he knew.

 

But what she had revealed... it left him deep in thought. Not just about the little bit of information she let slip about the condition of her mind, but her earnest in admitting that she, like him, also knew why he was in Florence.

 

She only said a few words regarding his situation, yet it made an impact. She was so insightful, it left him speechless. He hadn't known what to respond, but thinking back on it, his silence _was_ his answer.

 

Somehow, she knew this, and didn't push furthermore. It was almost like she could read his mind.

 

Thankfully, she didn't. She'd be horrified by the things she would find there.

 

Shaking off those twisted, negative thoughts before they could emerge from the depths of whatever hell they were in, Bucky rises and stretches, groaning in content when he hears his bone pop and crack. Feeling hungry, he puts on a shirt hanging in his chair and heads to the door.

 

As he does this, he hears the faintest murmur of music. Opening the door and stepping into the hallway, the music grows a tad louder.

 

It's coming from Wanda's room.

 

He considers ignoring it. He should leave her alone, not intrude.

 

But her door is just slightly ajar, just enough that he can hear the music playing. Classical.

 

He carefully takes a couple steps across the wooden floor, until he's at a minimal distance from the entry. He peeks through the opening gap with one eye, and half-smiles as he's met with a pretty sight.

 

She's dancing across her room. Throwing her arms above her head, jumping in the air and coming down so elegantly, her lithe body spinning in circles. Her long dark brown hair is loose, cascading down her shoulders and back.

 

It's a very pretty, nearly hypnotizing, sight.

 

Not wanting to risk bothering her, Bucky retreats and heads for the bathroom.

 

After splashing his face in cold water, he trots down the stairs. Looking at his watch, he expects Steve and Natasha to be in bed since they had to be up early. But alas, he finds Natasha perched at the dinner table. Her laptop is on and there are several papers strewn across the surface.

 

"Hey, Nat. What you doin'?" he asks as he goes to the coffee maker. He shouldn't be drinking coffee at night, but it's not like he's going to asleep anytime soon. Not after he took a longer than intended nap.

 

"Oh, just grading some quizzes," she responds tiredly.

 

Waiting for the coffee to heat up, he takes a seat across from her. She has her short red hair tied back, wisps of curls hanging along her face. She's marking the papers with a quickness. The scene suddenly takes him back to high school, which was so, so long ago. 

 

"I know I've said it already, but I still can't believe you're a teacher."

 

Nat chuckles, glancing at him for a moment. "You and me both. But what's even more surprising is that I'm liking it."

 

Bucky gestures unapprovingly to the work she is dealing with, as well as her weary appearance. "You like _this_?"

 

She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she flips from one exam to another. "What if I said I did?"

 

He hums, clearly not convinced.

 

She lightly clears her throat, putting the pen down to type in her laptop. "You know what I'm grading? It's a quiz about a book in our curriculum."

 

"What book?" he asks.

 

She turns off her laptop and starts gathering the papers, compiling them into one pile. When she's done, she looks up with a gentle smirk and lays back into her chair, arms crossing over her chest. There's dark circles under her eyes, and she looks like she's about to collapse and call it a night, yet there's still a sparkle in her teasing green eyes.

 

"Yours."

 

He tries to keep a neutral face but fails when he senses the right corner of his mouth tick upwards. "Are the students liking it?"

 

She nods, obviously pleased that she got a response from him, even if it is so little. "They are."

 

He gives in and smiles, because he's actually happy to hear it in person that people have enjoyed reading his novel. "Hmm... that's good."

 

Hearing the low rumble of the coffee maker, signifying it was done, he rises. He goes to a cabinet, takes a mug, and starts pouring hot coffee. It smells wonderful; he'll never tire of caffeine and its aroma. 

 

"Have you thought of anything yet?" Nat asks. "For your next book?"

 

He catches sight of sugar, and he almost reaches for it, but ultimately decides against it. Instead he grabs a small spoon and gives the liquid a good swish. "No. I have some ideas just moving around my head. Nothing concrete yet."

 

"Do you have a deadline? Like, to turn in a rough draft?"

 

He turns around to face her and leans on the counter, taking a sip. "Not really. Though they did say it'd be nice if I could have it done in a year."

 

She lets out a snort. "A year? I think someone needs to tell 'em that you're not that kind of writer. Didn't it take you three years?"

 

"Yeah," he chuckles, looking down at his watch. Seeing how late it is sends a pang of guilt; he doesn't want to keep her up for too long. "I did. Well, I'm gonna head up. Get some rest, Nat."

 

" _Oh_ , I will," she insists as she gets up and gathers her things. "I always get the best rests after grading quizzes."

 

They part after bidding each other goodnight. As Bucky walks back upstairs, he thinks about hitting the sheets as well. He needs to be well-rested to begin writing, but no matter how many times he tries to tell himself this, he's just not sleepy. He's tired, but not enough to fall back asleep. So once he's back in his bedroom, he goes straight for the balcony. He turns on the light fixture and sets his mug on the glass table, and then goes to retrieve his laptop.

 

He plops down on the seat, sighing through his nostrils as his laptop comes to life. He goes straight to his email, something he had avoided since leaving New York. When the screen pops up and asks him to write in his password, his fingers hesitate.

 

_She's not gonna email you. Why in the hell would she email you?_

 

His mind is all logic, but his heart is filled with mushy sentiment, and he absolutely hates it. He smacks his teeth in annoyance with himself and types in his password. A second later, his inbox loads, and he sees that he has 20 unread messages.

 

He does a quick eye scan of the "from" tab.

 

None are from _her._

 

He sighs again, but he doesn't know if he's disappointed or relieved. Thankfully, he doesn't have to dwell too much in that mystery. An email from Maria Hill, his agent, that she had sent to him a day earlier catches his eye.

 

 

> _Hi Bucky,_
> 
> _Just wondering how you're settling in Florence so far. I know it's early, but have you thought of any ideas for your next book? If not, that's completely fine. I was able to cancel those last 2 book signings in Florida, told them you were dealing with family issues. So you're absolutely free from now on. Stay in Florence as long as you need to._
> 
>  
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Maria Hill_

 

 

As Bucky is finishing his reply, telling Maria that he was alright, that he had not yet started drafting and planned to stay for only a week or two more in Florence, he turns his head when he hears the sound of a door sliding.

 

It's Wanda. She's wearing matching pajama shirt and shorts, a black kimono hanging loosely off her shoulders. Her long dark hair is messily plaited to the side, and her face is uncharacteristically pale under the moonlight.

 

She tosses a fast glance and smile his way as she takes a seat beside him, but the chair is not that close. "Trouble sleeping?"

 

"Yeah," he nods.

 

His eyes go to her hands. Her nails are still lacquered in black, and there's at least one ring in every finger. In her grasp is a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She takes one out and puts it into her mouth, lighting it. She puffs out the smoke and lays her back into the seat.

 

She raises a brow and gestures to the cigarette. "Want one?"

 

Bucky stares at the burning cigarette. Though he had dabbled in recreational use in his younger days, smoking is something that had never appealed to him. He especially hated that the stench would stick to his clothing. But at the moment, he's in a mood where he simply gives no fucks. He accepts her offer and lights up his own cigarette. Afterwards, he presses the "Send" button and shuts off his laptop.

 

They both sit there in silence, listening to the chirping of crickets and the distant sounds of cars and motorcycles.

 

"Where'd you learn how to dance?" he finally asks. It's only a moment later that he mentally kicks himself, because his question has just exposed him. Now she knows that he had seen her earlier. 

 

"By myself. I do it to relax my mind. To ward off the voices in my mind that creep on me every and now then."

 

He's suddenly reminded of her mental illness. He had been bored, and realizing that he knew absolutely nothing about it other than what Steve had told him, he looked it up. What surprised him was that while there is treatment, it can't be cured. The causes are unknown, but once the signs are heeded, it's there for life. It's a fact that shakes him, because he knows what's it like for the doctor to tell you it's incurable. To forever be incapacitated, somehow, someway. 

 

"I, uh, did some research about your condition," he says, taking another sip of the black coffee. "It's misunderstood 'cause it's, like, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder mixed together. It's very rare, so doctors are even more confused about it."

 

She nods twice, staring off into the distance. "Mm, you are correct. I have periods of hyperactivity and depression, and sometimes hallucinations. Or delusions," she shrugs. "However you want to call it."

 

As someone who had PTSD, a terrifying plague on his mind that nearly unsettled his sanity, Bucky looked on sympathetically. 

 

"D'you know if your family has a history of mental illness?"

 

"My papa made it clear that his side of the family had no such history," her mouth is a sour line, which makes him feel like she doesn't like to talk about her father. "He made it sound like it came from my mom, but Natasha doesn't think it is true. But I don't care how from who I got it from. I have it and there's nothing I can do about it." She inhales the cigarette and puffs, the grey cloud hovering a second longer around her. "I am... abnormal."

 

He continues to watch her movements carefully. He notices she's now looking up at the moon, the circular shape of it being reflecting into her suddenly dark green orbs. With every passing moment, his compassion for her only grows and grows. He doesn't like that he has found many similarities in such a young girl whose almost half his age. It just doesn't seem fair. 

 

"I don't think you're abnormal," he says after a beat. "You have problems, but so does everyone else. Some worse than others, but that's okay."

 

At last, Wanda looks at him. The slightest trace of a smile plays on her mouth, but it never materializes. Instead, her gratuity is brimming through her eyes. 

 

"You are right. But I will never be sane," she says more softly. "Not truly. I will always need medication so I do not have my mania episodes."

 

Again, he's hit with nauseating memories of his behavior after he returned from the war. At least the ones he was able to remember, because sometimes he would black out. Those were so horrifying, because he had no control of his actions when that happened. He was the mercy of whatever devil had planted itself in his mind. So he understands what it feels like to be afraid of yourself, having to rely on a pill to keep you from crossing that invisible line. What made it worse was that it wasn't guaranteed. Rationality wasn't assured.

 

"Ya know, I, uh, had PTSD," he starts. He doesn't know why he is bringing this up. Or maybe he does. Despite them being nearly total strangers, he feels like he can divulge this part about him. He senses that she'll be able to relate. "After I came back from the war. I had nightmares. Was moody, insomniac. The smallest things would trigger flashbacks. But I didn't wanna talk about it, I just... couldn't. This went on for a year, until... my wife, she threatened to leave me if I didn't get help."

 

She keeps her gaze locked on him, curiosity beginning to show on her face. "Did you?"

 

He nods solemnly. "Yeah."

 

She puffs and smiles. "I'm glad you are better now."

 

Bucky wants to snort at this statement, because he's most definitely not better now. If anything, he dreads that the demon is hiding deep in his brain. He's feels it there, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike. It wants to catch him off guard, so there won't be any walls to stop it. He isn't sure if he'll be able to build a defense this time, but he's trying, damn it, he's really trying. He doesn't want to burn again. No, he can't burn again. He's come too far to let it conquer.

 

Once more, Wanda's soft voice brings him back to the conversation. 

 

"Have you started writing?" she asks.

 

"Uh," he stutters as he sees his cigarette burning halfway. He had only inhaled twice, or was it three times? He doesn't remember. "Not yet."

 

"Will the main character be female again?"

 

He takes one final puff, and then squishes it dead into the ashtray. "I don't rule it out."

 

From the corner of his eye, he can tell that she's peering at him. Usually this bothers him because it makes him feel self-conscious, but when she does it, he has recognized that it doesn't bother him. He wants to think it's because the little connection between them, that she must feel it too.

 

"You should sleep," she points out.

 

He chuckles, lightly crossing his right arm over his left on his lap. "Nah, I won't. Not after the nap I just took."

 

She smiles wider, causing her cheekbones to become a bit more pronounced. He thinks she should smile like that more often; she's very pretty when she does.

 

"Well, I will now," she announces. "I don't want to, but I should so I don't get irregular sleeping patterns."

 

Bucky finds himself intrigued by this, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he just tells her goodnight. He hangs still, sitting there, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. He buries his face on his right palm, rubbing his forehead as it will wipe away the stress. He sorely wishes it could happen.

 

Realizing that it's best for him to just go lie down where hopefully sleep will take him, he get's up. For some reason, as he does so, his eyes roam to Wanda's slide door. It's covered by a curtain, but it's a light brown color that makes it easy to see through. He can see her sitting on her bed, back facing him. She's untangling her plaid, letting it fall down her back like a dark wavy cascade. She then moves to remove her kimono, and then her long-sleeve shirt over her head. This motion brings up her hair for a moment, revealing her bare back to him.

 

Though the sight is alluring, a flustered Bucky immediately looks away. He grabs his laptop, turns off the balcony light, and returns to his own room. He stands there in the darkness, his shoulders dropping as he sighs. He rubs his forehead again, now not only praying that his stress would go away, but also to forget what he had just witnessed. 

 

 

 


	6. wanda

 

 

 

"I went to the bar and I ordered a Shirley Temple, of all things. But I was there for an hour and a half, and not once was I tempted to get a drink." Valkyrie boasts, clearly proud of herself.

 

It is late morning, and they are at a cafe eating breakfast. They are seated outside, the floor jutting into the street, the traffic passing right by them. From her viewpoint she can see the outline of the [Basilica di San Lorenzo](https://s.hswstatic.com/gif/michelangelo-buildings-3.jpg) down the street.

 

"Good for you," Wanda commends her friend.

 

Ever since she met Valkyrie by chance – they had the same therapist in Florence – she's known of the older woman's alcoholism. She didn't hide it; instead, she openly talked about her struggles to lay off the bottle.

 

It's this type of courage that Wanda envies, because she knows she will never be comfortable telling a stranger about her mental illness. She prefers to keep that fact to herself, not to have so many people know.

 

It's more for their sake, she tells herself. She doesn't want to scare them.

 

"Sooo," Valkyrie goads, taking a sip of her coffee. "Tell me more about your house guest!" 

 

She shrugs a shoulder and looks off, trying to act as if the insinuation of Bucky doesn't make her feel something. "He is just a guest, like me."

 

"Isn't he a writer?" Valkyrie wonders. "Isn't he Steve's _best friend_?"

 

"And a veteran." Wanda adds airily. 

 

"Whose wife has left him, right?"

 

Wanda nods. She especially doesn't like to think about  _that_ person.

 

"Man!" Valkyrie frowns. "That's fucked up. I dunno know what I'd do if someone just left me. What a bitchy thing to do."

 

"Yeah..." Wanda responds, trying her best to pass off a nonchalant vibe.

 

"I haven't gone around to read his book yet, but I will."

 

Wanda catches herself, but not in time to stop from reaching into her crossbody bag hanging off her chair. "Er, I actually have it –" she starts to say, then pauses briefly. She curses herself, but still she decides to just go ahead and give it to her. "Right here. You can borrow it."

 

"Oh," Valkyrie's deep brown eyes glint for a second, then she blinks and it's gone. "Thanks, girl. You just saved me some bucks."

 

Taking the book, she starts skimming through it. When she reaches the end, she zeroes in on the author and the accompanying picture.

 

"Oh my God, Wanda. He's good-looking!" Valkyrie gasps excitedly, showing her the picture, as if Wanda hadn't stared at it a couple times already. "A pretty white boy, just like Steve. And single. You should take advantage of that."

 

Again, Wanda just wants to squirm. But she just settles on rolling her eyes while blushing madly at the thought. "Oh, Valkyrie, _please_."

 

"I don't see a problem in that," Valkyrie smirks. She always knows what not to say. "Besides, if you two have a good time, you might just inspire him. Maybe he'll model a character after you. And wouldn't _that_ be something?"

 

Wanda doesn't respond; she just scoffs lightly and shakes her head.

 

To distract her from Valkyrie's mischievous implication, she looks into her bag and takes out her camera.

 

She looks through the last couple of pictures, coming across the one she took of Bucky. She silently admires it, remembering the small conversation they had in that moment.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After parting ways with Valkyrie, Wanda rides her bike back home. A little vintage bookstore soon catches her eye, so she stops there for a couple minutes.

 

She peruses through the empty place, taking comfort in the smell of books. They're all in Italian, and she's able to understand some of them.

 

She's reminded of Bucky's book, and how that morning she had been getting ready when she saw it on her desk. She had completely forgotten about it, and had planned on re-reading it while waiting for Valkyrie.

 

But she had been beaten to the restaurant, so the book slipped her mind until Valkyrie mentioned it.

 

She hopes her friend will like it, just as she did.

 

Wanda hops back on her bike and continues home. She leaves it parked outside, reminding herself to bring it in later so it doesn't get stolen.

 

Upon entering the apartment, she's surrounded by silence, except for the occasional chirping of birds.

 

She gallops upstairs, going straight to her home. She collapses on her bed, her eyes fluttering to a close. She inhales and exhales, thinking of what to do. 

 

Suddenly, she feels dirty. She huffs in annoyance. She doesn't know where this comes from; she just took a shower last night. But she does, maybe it's because she's sweaty, so she starts stripping off her shirt and jean shorts.

 

She goes to the bathroom, leaving it open since no one is home but her. She turns on the water and doesn't wait for it to heat up. She goes to stand under the shower head, letting the cold water drench her body before it warms.

 

She only rubs the bar of soap on her. After she is finished, she turns off the water and reaches for her towel. She's in the midst of drying her legs when her ears perk up.

 

The door downstairs opens and closes. She hopes it's Natasha or Steve back home early, but a second later, she's proven wrong by the sound of steps quickly running up the stairs. 

 

Wanda's mind panics. She is scrambling, trying to wrap the towel around her while stepping out of the tub to close the door. She has her hand on the knob, ready to shut it, when she remembers her earlier conversation with Valkyrie.

 

It's a momentary flimsy thought, and she's embarrassed to even think about it. No matter if she feels somehow connected to Bucky, that she feels she can tell him anything, their relationship simply isn't in that manner.

 

She cannot think _that_ way about him. 

 

 _But what if he feels the same,_  says a voice in the back of her mind. _Just let him "accidentally" see you. You know you want him to._

 

Wanda closes the door before Bucky can catch her naked, and before her mind can dangerously imagine any further.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Wanda rouses, it's nearly 6pm. She stretches in her bed, having taken a nap for nearly 2 hours. She yawns and swallows, finding her throat parched. Her stomach then rumbles very loud, reminding her that she hasn't fed it since morning.

 

Feeling a chill in the air, she reaches for her grey hoodie scrunched up in her chair, lifting it over her still moist hair. She slips her phone in the hoodie's pocket. As she's climbing down the stairs, she wonders what she should do. Cook or go out to catch a quick dinner. She'd have to check the fridge to see if she can make anything. If not, then she could wait for Natasha to come home and maybe they could go eat a restaurant. Though she'd rather not since she already eat out in the morning.

 

By the time she steps off the last step and heads to the kitchen, she's looking into her contacts on her phone. She's about to text Natasha when the door behind her flings opens. Taken aback, she turns to see Bucky cross over the threshold.

 

"Hey," he greets her kindly. He raises the bag he's holding. "I bought some sandwiches."

 

Wanda instantly smiles, her stomach reacting very eagerly at the smell of food. "Hi. Oh, thank goodness."

 

She walks by him to retrieve her bike, parking it to the backyard terrace. She returns to the kitchen, seeing Bucky washing his hands at the sink. She takes his appearance in for a moment: he's wearing gym shorts and a plain navy blue shirt, his messy hair tied back in a knot. She wonders how many times a day he works out. He must be quite obsessed, because that's the only explanation she can think of for his biceps are _bulging_.

 

She had once thought that Steve was physically the strongest person she'd ever come across. There's now a tie.

 

Catching herself ogling, Wanda blinks and clears her throat. "What sandwiches did you get?"

 

Bucky dries his hands and looks through the bag, taking out all four neatly-wrapped grilled sandwiches. "I texted Nat on what everyone likes. She said you like cheese, turkey, and salami."

 

Wanda hums approvingly. "She's right."

 

He pulls back the wrapping, offering her the sandwich. She takes it, and for a split second, her finger brushes his. It's the lightest of touches, so she shouldn't think too much on it. But for some damn reason, no matter how hard she knows in her head it's nothing, her heart begs to differ.

 

Internally, she flinches. Not out of pain. It's a different sensation, and she doesn't like that she's feeling it.

 

Outwardly, she acts as if nothing happens. She quickly takes a bite out of it so her face doesn't have a chance to redden. Glimpsing at Bucky, he too looks away and doesn't say anything.

 

 _Good_ , she thinks, _That means it's only me. I'm the one acting weird._

 

She is about to go to her room when he speaks again. "Wanna sit outside?"

 

She should say no just because, but she doesn't want to come off as rude. So she smiles shyly and nods, grabbing some napkins.

 

They take their places on the terrace table across from each other, both holding onto their sandwiches. As she munches, she gazes up at the sky, finding the sun setting as the moon is already emerging in the distance, its luminosity still small.

 

"So what've you been up to?" Bucky asks.

 

Wanda shrugs. "Nothing much. What about you?"

 

She tears her eyes from the sky when she feels a vibration in the pocket of her hoodie. She balances her phone on her left hand while she reaches for her phone with the other. It's a text from Valkyrie.

 

**Heeeeey Wandaaaa are you doing anything later tonight? (6:27 PM)**

 

Wanda resists the urge to roll her eyes. She can already tell what Valkyrie is about to ask her.

 

**nooo. why? (6:28 PM)**

 

She rests her phone on her chest as she glances at Bucky, eyes straight ahead. 

 

"Same. This morning, though, was kinda interesting," he says, his voice picking up. "I went jogging and I didn't have my phone; I left it charging. So I basically wandered 'round for an hour. Thankfully, I had my wallet, so I ate at this nice little cafe. And then I spend, like, half an hour walkin' 'round again before I found my way back."

 

Her phone vibrates again. "Yes, that has happened to me too. Getting lost."

 

**Wanna go to the virgin rock pub ;) (6:30 PM)**

 

"But it's not scary," she continues, though her attention is on answering Valkyrie. "And it helps that lots of Italians can mostly understand English."

 

**weren't you just there? last night? (6:31 PM)**

 

When she puts her phone down and raises her face, she finds a pair of blue irises on her. The instant they make eye contact, Bucky blinks away and takes a bite of his sandwich.

 

Wanda doesn't know what to make of it, except she's left feeling self-conscious. And she doesn't like it at all.

 

 _It's nothing_ , she tries to convince herself.

 

"Yeah. You're right," he says after a pause.

 

Luckily, Valkyrie texts her back to provide her a momentary distraction.

 

**No that was across the river. (6:33 PM)**

**Come onnnnn (6:33 PM)**

**You haven't gone out in a while (6:33 PM)**

**You can bring your cousin and her husband (6:34 PM)**

**And her husband's bff of course (6:34 PM)**

**Especially him (6:34 PM)**

 

Wanda sinks back into her chair, hoping it can swallow her whole.

 

Ask Bucky to the bar?

 

It's a Wednesday night so Natasha and Steve definitely wouldn't go. So then that ruled Bucky out because he wouldn't go anywhere without them.

 

He wouldn't dare go with her. First, he'd probably think it would be inappropriate. And secondly, it would be too awkward.

 

It just wouldn't be a good idea.

 

 _And yet you'd still like it if he_ did _go._

 

Wanda brings her knees up in the chair. She peers at her phone, wondering what to do. It's true that she would like to take him out, see him really behave outside the presence of Natasha and Steve. She has no idea why she wants to; all she has to go for is that she just wants to spend some time with him outside the house.

 

It's a harmless suggestion. It couldn't hurt, could it?

 

And if he said no, then... oh well. At least she had tried. Though she would be disappointed.

 

 _Moj Boze, I hate myself_ , she thinks dreadfully.

 

"I am going out tonight. To a bar," she starts.

 

She gauges his response. He doesn't turn to her, but she can still see his brows lift up for a moment in intrigue, followed by the slightest uptick of his mouth. "Are you old enough to go to a bar?"

 

"As long as I dress like I am older, then it's no problem. Besides, Natasha trusts me." She then pauses. "You can come too. If you want," she adds for good measure.

 

"Uh..." Bucky flusters, clearly not expecting the offer. "I'm – I'm not sure. About that."

 

He finally looks at her, uncertainty written over his features. Not knowing what else to do, Wanda gives him a friendly smile. "We won't leave till 11, so you have time to think on it." She gets up and gestures at the sandwich. "Thanks again."

 

As soon as she steps into the house, Wanda lets out a ragged sigh. Her stomach is rolling over, her skin suddenly very hot.

 

She cannot believe she just did that. What is wrong with her?

 

 _Nothing_ , her mind answers.

 

Oh, how she'd like to believe that to be true.

 

She scoops her phone and writes back, her fingers shaking.

 

**ok (6:45 PM)**

**i asked him, by the way. (6:45 PM)**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> winterwitch will quickly pick up speed in these next chapters ❤❤❤❤


End file.
